


Speed the Collapse

by KimbaSprite



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Five just wants to know what is going on, Gen, I love Vanya but she is so whiny at 13, Memory Loss, No character hate, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sibling Bonding, Time Travel, Underage Drug Use, Unreliable Narrator, kind of, we love and appreciate all the Hargreeves siblings in this house
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimbaSprite/pseuds/KimbaSprite
Summary: It’s the middle of the night when Vanya finds her badly injured brother in the courtyard, six weeks after he vanished. Unable to remember anything, Five can’t shake the feeling he’s meant to be doing something important, and he won’t stop until he figures it out. Where did he go?Whendid he go? Why can’t he remember?And why does he feel like he’s being watched?-“I warned you of the dangers, of the ill-effects even theattemptcould have on your mind and body. It is of no pleasure to me to see I was correct.“Our own Icarus, your arrogance has led you to your undoing.”
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Allison Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & The Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy), Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 61
Kudos: 101





	1. Jump with Me (on the count of Three)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Frequent ao3 reader/commenter, first-time ao3 writer. It’s been 10+ years since I’ve shared anything I've written so I am a bit nervous to be posting... I got this idea about a week ago and the whole thing is already mapped out in a basic setup/ conflict/ resolution format(RIP my other WIPs), but I’m packing a lot in here that I think people will really like. Hoping to update somewhere in the ballpark of every 2 weeks, total at 8-9 chapters, and finish at roughly 30k if all goes according to plan. *fingers crossed*
> 
> The title comes from the band Metric. I pulled a bit of inspiration from their albums Synthetica and Art of Doubt when writing this story. I highly recommend giving them a listen.  
> 
> 
> _December 29, 2020_

_December 2002_

Waking up feels welcome and foreign all at once for Vanya. She quickly catalogs the feeling of foggy weightlessness to what comes after a long day in her role as note-taker during Academy drills. Hours spent standing and simply observing, notating everything her father said in her clean practiced penmanship. It's one of the few ways she can be a part of her family's routine, but it leaves her feeling bone-weary to her very core.

Shifting where she lays, Vanya acknowledges how warm and comfortable she feels despite seemingly falling asleep in her day clothes. There’s a pleasant hum filling the room and soft fingers combing back her bangs and, for a moment, she wonders how late it actually is if Mom is still up. She very much doubts it’s morning already, the room beyond her heavy eyelids is still dimmed and no sound from her brothers or sister making its way to her bedroom yet.

A little more rest wouldn’t hurt, she rationalizes. Sleep never used to be an issue, but nights have been rough for Vanya since Five went missing six weeks ago. Not that she’d been having issues falling asleep, rather the opposite. 

Every night since he ran away, Vanya has had her own mission. It wasn’t an Umbrella Academy mission but it was just as important to her; because, if she was successful, then she would have her favorite brother back. Staying up late was crucial to her mission, even if it was really hard after days spent assisting in her siblings’ training.

Their home spanned the space of an entire square block— forty-two bedrooms, nineteen bathrooms, and a near-infinite number of dark hallways for Five to get lost or turned around in if he wasn’t careful. She knew his powers didn’t work well in the dark, and if he came home and couldn’t see where he was, then he may not be able to find them. He would think they didn’t miss him and would leave them all again.

So, Vanya does what she is able to. She makes sure the lights are on and makes him a snack to welcome him home. By the time she typically finishes her new nightly routine, it’s well past curfew and sleep comes quickly. 

Today was no exception, so it seemed. But as she lay there, nuzzling into the warm touch of the fingers in her hair, Vanya was troubled to realize she couldn’t recall completing her task that evening, nor the exact sequence of events that led to her falling asleep. 

She begins to walk herself back and remembers she had been waiting for Mom to come down from the top floor for lights out. That’s right. Ben had gotten a stomach ache after dinner. So Mom had made him some ginger tea to drink before bed and before she was scheduled to retire to her nook and recharge for the night. Vanya remembers hearing her mother’s heels clicking on the hardwood up on the third floor above her room... and then suddenly she was waking up.

The humming continues, but the tone is off. It’s still feminine, but the melody is one she’s never heard from her mother, so perfectly set in her routine. She realizes with a start that it’s not Grace humming and petting her hair, it’s—

“Allison?” Her voice waivers slightly. The words cut through her throat, seemingly rough from sleep. “What are you doing in my room?”

The two are still for a moment and Vanya blinks up blearily, the room slowly falling into focus. She was laid on her side, back to the wall, Allison sat at the edge of the bed with her arm out-stretched; perfectly manicured nails combing through Vanya’s straight brown hair. 

It’s a scene out of Vanya’s dreams, to be so close to her sister who only ever seemed to treat her as a source of annoyance. It’s no secret to anyone in the house how little the two interact. For being the only girls in the family, Vanya had hoped their relationship would have grown as they did, but the gap between them only seemed to widen as Allison came into herself and her abilities, leaving Vanya in her shadow. 

So it’s fair to say that, beyond falling asleep without noticing, the other girl’s presence in Vanya’s tiny bedroom is the bigger anomaly. 

“I heard a noise. I think you were having a nightmare.”

Heat floods Vanya’s face. It wasn’t that far-fetched. Allison looks like she just finished her nightly routine— blue academy pajamas with her long curly hair in a high bun and a soft scarf around her hairline— and the bathroom _ is _ directly across from Vanya’s bedroom. If she had been tired enough to fall asleep right after lessons and without changing out of her day clothes, it wasn’t unrealistic to think she left her door ajar as well. 

Nightmares had become a lot more commonplace as well but she didn’t feel like she was having a nightmare before waking up. If anything, she felt content. But also somewhat on edge. Her room felt charged with energy, like lightning about to strike. Or maybe it already had and she didn’t notice. 

All in all, it was a difficult feeling to describe, even to herself.

Her confusion must have translated to her face because suddenly Allison rolls her eyes and gets up to leave.

“Ugh, see if I help next time.” 

“Wait, no! Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, I was just…” She doesn’t know how to describe the odd feeling to her sister when she gives her an expectant look, waiting for her to continue. Vanya shakes her head, “Nothing. Sorry.”

“Whatever. You should probably change,” she’s looking at Vanya’s rumpled uniform. She tries not to squirm under her gaze. “It’s after curfew, everyone else is asleep.”

She jumps out of bed and finally registers the time, “Oh no! I’m late.” 

“I just said it was after curfew! Where are you going?”

“Just the kitchen. I’ll only be a few minutes, you don’t need to tell Dad.” It’s a plea. Allison was a huge stickler for the rules, only surpassed by Luther. She almost never passed up an opportunity to tattle on her and the others if it meant making herself look better.

“What’s so important it can’t wait until morning?”

“It’s for Five.”

Allison’s demeanor softens. It encourages Vanya to continue.

“I make him his favorite snack. You know, those sandwiches he likes? I just think that, well, he’s been gone for a little while and when he comes back he might be hungry, so…” she trails off with a shrug, her point surely made.

Allison laughs, “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re still doing that.”

For the second time tonight, heat resurfaces in her cheeks. The tone didn’t sound patronizing, but Vanya can’t help but feel embarrassed. Five hasn’t been gone two months and everyone is acting like he’s never coming back. Dad called his disappearance no great loss, and the others refuse to even talk about him after they were told he likely fell victim to his own ego, torn apart by his power.

She shakes her head to stop her thoughts from spiraling. As ill-thought-out as his plan may have seemed to the others, Vanya knew her brother had been planning to test his abilities to time travel for months by that point. If he was confident he could do it, she believed him. To Vanya, there was no other option than for him to be out there somewhere— somewhen— alive and safe. He just needed a beacon to light his way home.

“I’m sorry, I have to go before it gets too late.” 

She turns to leave but then Allison weaves her arm around Vanya’s, and her heart skips a beat at the unfamiliar touch.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh,” she tells her, “I’ll go with you.” 

Vanya wants to decline, initially. She still feels like she is being mocked somehow with how this is the most friendly Allison has been towards her in weeks. Ultimately she accepts the gesture as together they stand to go. 

Outside her bedroom, moonlight spills into the far end of the hallway, lighting the familiar path. It’s as they’re rounding the corner to the stairwell that she sees something odd— loose items on the ground and swept against the far wall. It must have been a rush to the shared bathroom, she thinks. Mom will probably have it all cleaned by morning.

Bafflingly, this trend continues around the next corner as they make their way to the entrance hall landing and begin their descent down the stairs. There are Dad’s collectibles and Umbrella Academy memorabilia dragged across the space. She pauses as the peculiarity sets in. It looks as if the floor shifted and gravity pulled them down to the end, before righting itself again. Allison must have picked up on the oddness of it as well because her grip on her arm tightens and she begins visually scanning the open space. They’re on the middle platform on the main stairs when Allison moves in front of her.

“Something weird is happening. I’m going to look around,” she pauses, “Stay here. Don’t get in my way.”

In her pale blue pajamas and white satin slippers, Allison makes her way down the stairs while Vanya does her best to make herself appear as small and hidden as possible. However, she can’t help the sense of intrigue that overtakes her whenever the Umbrella Academy is involved. She may not have been trained for combat and high-stress environments like her siblings but she likes to think she has picked up a fair amount simply by observing. 

Allison is crouched low at the foot of the stairs so Vanya takes it upon herself to do some visual reconnaissance from her current vantage point. Unfortunately, she can’t see much downstairs but she can at least confirm Mom is still in place charging in her nook, which means the mansion’s security system hasn’t been triggered. 

She's about to slink down to tell Allison when movement in her periphery grabs her attention. The large windows to her left view out into their secluded courtyard, lit only by moonlight and a few fogged outdoor laps. Out in the middle is a lone figure and it takes her a moment of squinting before she is able to identify they are wearing an academy uniform. They’re facing away from her but the dark hair removes Luther as a possibility. She knows Klaus has been sneaking out more lately since they share a bedroom wall that shakes each time he opens his window to climb out, so he seems the most likely candidate; that is, until she sees the figure turn slightly as an electric blue light flickers around their fists. 

And then suddenly she is flying down the stairs and rushing past Allison’s harsh whisper and failed attempts to slow her down, because Vanya has already rounded the final corner that leads to the enclosed yard. The cold December air meets her face and exposed knees and is pushed from her lungs all at once with the impact of her wrapping her arms around the form of her no-longer-missing brother.

The moment of relief is short-lived as Allison runs out seconds after her, “Vanya, what is  _ wrong _ with you—” only to cut herself off in her own surprise.

“It’s Five,” she says as if introducing her sister to her own brother and she laughs because nothing else is important other than the boy in her arms.

Allison blinks and then walks to meet them in the grass, immediately soddening her pristine white slippers.

“Where the  _ hell  _ have you been, Five?” She asks sternly, but Vanya hears her voice waiver at his name and she realizes it’s the first time she’s heard anyone else say it in weeks. At the question, Vanya recognizes she would also very much like to know where he has been.

“I was so worried! But I knew you’d be back,” she tries to assure him, “We missed you so much.”

She steps back, then, noticing he hasn’t moved since she nearly tackled him in her excitement. For a second she thinks he might be overwhelmed by the emotional welcome— she may have gotten a little excited but surely he must be a little happy that she missed him so much— but then she looks at him. Like,  _ really  _ looks at him. The outdoor lighting was dim but she could still make out the sallow tint in his face and under eye shadows that appear near bruised. His hair is a mess of greasy locks and bits of dried matted blood and his uniform looks just as disheveled and grimy. He is holding his side as if in pain and he still hasn’t responded to either of them.

“Five, hey,” Allison is closer now, stepping into his line of sight. When he doesn’t respond again she waves her hand in front of his face.

“What are you doing?” Vanya asks before putting a protective hand on his shoulder. 

“Something’s not right,” She shakes her head, “I don’t think he knows where he is.”

“Of course he does! He’s home.” He may look a little worse for wear but he was back! That’s all that mattered. Why couldn’t Allison just see that? 

“I’m going to get Mom to wake Dad. He’ll want to know Five is back.” She turns to leave, “Stay with him. He doesn’t look good.”

No sooner had the words leave her sister’s lips than Five let out a whine, unlike anything she’s heard from him before. Vanya turns just quickly enough to see his eyes roll back and his knees give way like a marionette with its strings cut. The two girls reach out to cushion his fall and in the end, Vanya finds him cradled in her lap, her socks and skirt a muddy mess below her. Allison’s sleep pants fare no better, mud and grass stains surely knee-to-toe as she leans forward to check Five’s pulse, letting out a sigh of relief when she seems to find one.

“He’s fine! He’s just tired,” Vanya tightens her hold, refusing to let go. “He’s fine.” 

Allison just shakes her head at her and stands, eyebrows furrowed. Vanya doesn’t know why she looks so angry.

“Don’t move him too much. We don’t know if he’s hurt.”

“He’s  _ fine _ ,” she insists but Allison’s already gone; Vanya’s platitude falling on deaf ears as the white doors slam closed in her haste. She busies herself by carting her fingers through his dirtied hair and watches the small white puffs of breath that breach his parted lips. It must have started raining because she now finds herself wiping intermittent droplets of water from his cheeks.

There is the sound of squeaky hinges behind her as the doors fly open once again and four figures come towards her in the frozen grass.

“He’s fine,” she informs her mother as she appears at her side. Grace smiles sweetly at her before reaching to brush her fingers delicately across her own cheeks, bringing back moisture.

“Don’t cry, Vanya dear,” she soothes, “Your brother is home now. We’ll have him good as new in no time.”

Her lap is left cold when Five is taken from her and into her mother’s arms; her carry is steady and smooth despite her heels and petite stature. In the less than fifteen minutes since she awoke from her nap, Vanya feels like hours have passed. She sits there in the mud for a bit, simply watching Pogo hold the door as her mother and father rush Five almost certainly to the infirmary. 

There’s a hand on her shoulder and she follows the baby blue of their academy pajamas up until her eyes meet Allison’s once again. 

“You should probably change,” she says “Dad wants a full report of what we saw.”

_ Oh _ . She smiles wetly, sniffling loudly through congested tears. Her first mission was successful.

Vanya follows Allison back inside for their debriefing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five is back! I’m sure everything is fine. We’ll see what’s going on with him in the next chapter.


	2. Thought I made a stand (only made a scene)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five reunites with his family. Some meetings go better than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all… I'm gonna cry, I was not expecting so much good feedback from that first chapter! I returned to work this week so I wanted to post one last time before I lose momentum. Though, I'm apologizing in advance for my excessive use of em dashes, parenthesis, italics, strike text, and what some may consider abnormal formatting. I tried to cut back a bit but if anyone finds it distracting please let me know.
> 
> I’ve also recruited my husband to beta because we gotta spice up this pandemic somehow, amirite? I love him. With his feedback, this chapter actually doubled in length so I've split it in two. I am projecting 9 chapters total! I feel like this may be a trend ~~sorry not sorry?~~ Please enjoy!
> 
> _January 5, 2021_

_December 2002_

Since his outburst on the afternoon of November 10th, 2002, the total amount of time that Number Five Hargreeves had been missing was six weeks and two days. According to Grace’s measurements, he has only aged approximately two weeks and four days (give or take).

He remembers none of it.

On his right arm, there is a poorly stitched incision in his inner forearm and a bullet graze on his deltoid (both approximately two weeks old), a more adequately stitched gash in his abdomen that appears to have torn (approximately a week and a half old), scabbed over claw marks on his neck (approximately one week old), a goose-egg sized hematoma just past his hairline (approximately two days old), as well as a medley of lesser bumps, scrapes, and bruises spanning his entire five feet and two inches in height.

And he remembers  _ none  _ of it.

“Tell me, Number Five, is there anything that you  _ do  _ remember from this disappointing display of your ability? What you fail to recall from your botched endeavor is of little worth to me.”

His father’s words cut deep and ache more painful than his current barrage of physical injuries.  He's in the infirmary, covered with gauze and tape, propped up with too-stiff pillows - a scratchy white bed sheet draped over his lap. In the seat beside him is his father, taking notes of their conversation. It’s early morning now, past the time his brothers and sisters would be waking up for breakfast and morning lessons. 

This isn't right. He remembers having walked out the front gates, so sure of himself. The idea of repurposing his spatial jumps— exit through Point A, emerge at Point B— to include a set span of time between the entry points. Ergo,  _ time travel _ . The concept was simple enough; a natural next step and evolution to his developing abilities.

That cold November day, Five had opened a rift at Point A and resurfaced at Point F— Spring.

So he jumped again, only this time landing further out in what he could only guess was the following Winter, based on the snowstorm. 

It was so easy. How had he gone his whole thirteen years without exploring this part of his power? It was exhilarating, he jumped again and—

~~ Regret— ~~

~~ Death— ~~

~~ Desolation— ~~

~~_ Red— _ ~~

~~ Hope— ~~

~~ Fear— ~~

~~ Shame— ~~

_ He had jumped again _ — and then found himself waking up in the infirmary, battle-worn and with no recollection of what had happened or how he got back.

"I jumped,” he settles on, swallowing thickly. “You said I couldn't do it but I did. I time-traveled."

He was right. He had known he could time travel. He had proved his father wrong and that was all that mattered.

The old man shakes his head, returning to his notebook and writing something down. Five’s eyes flick up to follow the motion of the pen.

“You continue to overestimate your proficiency over your special ability. I never doubted the existence of your raw potential, only your competence and self-preservation.”

“I didn’t overestimate anything,” Five bites back. “You're just upset I skipped ahead in your training. You  _ just said _ I’ve always had the potential! Just think of what this means for the academy! What I could do—”

“No. You have  _ wasted  _ your potential.” Five is cut off, silenced by his father’s harsh adamance. “I warned you of the dangers, of the ill-effects even the  _ attempt  _ could have on your mind and body. It is of no pleasure to me to see I was correct.” 

“Our own Icarus, your arrogance has led you to your undoing.” 

“Nothing is undone; I  _ succeeded _ .”

His reappearance in the courtyard six weeks after he first left should have been proof enough of his achievement. Dad just didn’t know how to admit defeat.

“You are suggesting your battered appearance and impaired mental faculties were your intention? Do not take me for a fool.”

Alright, maybe his last jump wasn’t  _ perfectly  _ executed, but one out of three shouldn’t be seen as a complete failure. He was still new to it, after all. But with enough practice he’s certain he can master it, he just needs the opportunity to do so. It’s his power, he controls it. Not the other way around.

Feeling his frustration rise to the surface, Five turns his face away from his father and up towards the ceiling, refusing to let him see his emotional shift. He hears the bedside chair scrape backward as Dad stands in preparation to leave as if he’s won the discussion. Heat floods his face as hot tears prickle behind his eyelids. Five knows his powers better than anyone, no matter what his father thinks.

“You don't know anything.”

“Nor do you, evidently.”

* * *

####  White light fills his vision as the familiar hum of his sister’s voice permeates his senses. The feeling trails down his ear canals and fills his skull with a warm inclination and desire to do as the voice requests; to do otherwise is as absurd a concept as ceasing to exist entirely.

His equilibrium shifts as mental synapses fire; sights and sounds play out behind his eyelids— jumping through time, ash and decay— but like water slipping through his fingers it holds no shape and it is gone before he has the time to speak or blink or even  _ think  _ long enough to try to decipher any of it. 

All at once, Five feels his body jerk— as if startled awake from falling asleep much too quickly. His lungs leap up from his diaphragm, breath caught almost painfully just behind his sternum.

“ _ I heard a rumor that you told us where you went on November 10th, after you left the house, _ ” The Rumor echoes in his mind, incensed at his lack of response.

“I don’t  _ remember _ ,” is all he can say as the world fills back in, pockets of color and cold that are much less inviting than the Rumor’s initial embrace. His body’s weight follows close behind as one by one he takes inventory of his recollected senses and culmination of recent injuries. From head to toe, his mind and body ache with the rejection of the Rumor.

Even from his perch in the far corner of the training room, their father’s disappointment is palpable. The two teens are seated in front of each other in a quasi interrogation and Allison is looking at Five as if he’s caused her some great offense. And maybe he has. The immediate after-effects of the Rumor leave him feeling fuzzy around the edges. Somehow both too relaxed and too wired, like an exposed nerve.

He hates it.

Allison turns to their father with annoyance and for a moment Five is jealous that his sister gets to show her frustrations so much more freely than he has ever been allowed to. Her special ability always gave her a longer leash where their father was involved.

“What is this, some kind of test?” She asks, “Why isn’t it working?”

“Calm down, Number Three. Your hysterics will do nothing to aid in your effectiveness," Dad says, "Try again, rephrased.”

Her whole posture seems to roll with her eyes as she turns back to face Five. A drop of sweat trails from the nape of his neck and down his spine, making him shiver. There are no spoken words, but the feeling in his chest loosens as her power retreats, and he no longer feels the strain of his inability to comply. 

~~_ «I heard a rumor that you told us where you went on November 10th, after you left the house.» _ ~~

Despite himself, he feels his body sag slightly in relief. They’ve only been at this for a few minutes now and Five is already feeling at his wit’s end. Not that he has too many wits left.

_ Why couldn’t he remember? _

Allison takes another deep breath and he resists the urge to flinch. Her words hit like a punch to all his senses.

_ “I heard a rumor you could remember what happened since you’ve been gone.” _

And again, the desire to yield to her request comes over him and a migraine bursts behind his eyes from the strain. A small gasp slips past his lips— an embarrassing betrayal— and he can nearly hear Allison wince at his response. 

“I don’t— I  _ can’t _ ,” he hisses. 

Five had been so sure going into this session that it was exactly what he would need in order to get his answers, but now he just wants her to  _ stop. _ Whatever it is that is preventing him from remembering, it doesn’t seem like something Allison can fix as each subsequent Rumor knocks him more and more off balance. 

Maybe Dad was right. The thought alone leaves Five with the primal desire to rebel against it, but if even Allison was having trouble getting the information out of him...

~~_ «I heard a rumor you could remember what happened since you’ve been gone.» _ ~~

Stomach rolling, he breathes in through his nose and out his mouth as he straightens back up in his seat. There is no evolutionary advantage to showing weakness, he reminds himself.

He opens his eyes and realizes it’s probably not a good sign that he doesn’t remember closing them to begin with. 

Maybe there really was something wrong with his head?

_ “I heard a rumor that you told us how you got hurt.” _

Again, the desire to respond, and the discomfort when he cannot. Lightheaded, he blinks the room back into focus.

~~_ «I heard a rumor that you told us how you got hurt.» _ ~~

So again she tries. And again. For nearly an hour, Five sits, bracing himself as wave after wave of Rumors wash over him. If his brain was feeling fried from before, he thinks it feels closer to mush by the end. Strained and stretched thin.  ~~Broken~~. But like trying to squeeze blood from a stone, it is impossible to draw information that is not there.

* * *

####  Padded footsteps are what draws Five to wakefulness sometime later. He’s been home nearly a day and has spent all of it restricted to the infirmary while Mom monitors his vitals and progress on his injuries. He vaguely recalls Dad mentioning Allison and Vanya were the ones to discover him, but so far, Allison is the only one he’s been conscious enough to greet, and even then it was all business. He had been expecting the rest of his siblings to make appearances after their dinner, but Allison’s Inquisition took more out of him than he expected and he ended up losing consciousness shortly after.

The door opens and his suspicions are confirmed when he sees the group of them backlit in the doorway. He almost feels guilty over his relief that Allison is not among them. Almost.

Five sits up gingerly, minding his side stitches as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed to place his feet on the cool tile. The motion is enough to make the room tilt precariously, but the temperature of the flat surface grounds him in the space. This is helpful when, for a moment, he loses track of everyone in a flurry of limbs as they all take turns hugging him where he sits. It catches him off guard and he freezes up a moment in surprise before deciding to grin and bear it; doing his best to look annoyed as he feigns shoving them off, but still allows a small smile to rise to the surface— finding it both bizarre and heartening that they appear to have missed him so much. 

He ends up with Klaus to his right— sitting legs crossed at the foot of the bed— while Ben pulls up the two chairs still in the room for everyone to gather closer. 

It is altogether idiosyncratic. The most recent memory that Five has of all of his siblings willingly in the same room together— meaning, outside of their daily schedules of meals and lesson plans— was months ago; well before the Umbrella Academy made themselves known to the rest of the world. He knows this because it wasn’t long after that he became all but consumed with his desire for  _ more _ — the rush and success of their first mission all but setting his future in stone. It was the turning point, the moment everyone and everything began changing— and not all for the better.

Even when they’re missing one of seven, it leaves him feeling nostalgic and warm in a way he would never admit to them out loud.

Diego clears his throat, “Mom says you missed dinner,” he says, nudging Vanya forward. Five can see now that she’s holding a plate in her hands.

“I brought you a snack,” she confirms.

At the thought of food, Five’s stomach twists in discomfort. He takes the plate from her anyway, “Thanks, Vanya,” he says, appreciative of the sentiment but still too nauseous to eat, “I’m not hungry right now, but maybe later.”

She nods and sits on his other side. Diego and Ben claim the chairs and Luther stands vigil at the foot of the bed.

They’re being oddly well-behaved, he notes. Even Klaus— who always had the more difficult time staying still for too long— appeared to be on his best behavior where he positioned himself beside him. He’s grabbed Five’s pillow and is holding it to his chest as he makes himself comfortable. He hasn’t spoken a word yet which is more than enough for Five to recognize they’re all tip-toeing around him for some reason.

“We’re glad to see you’re feeling better, Five,” Luther starts— because of course, he does— setting the tone for the rest of them to follow their leader. 

Ben picks up the metaphorical talking stick, “Dad told us what happened this morning,” he continues, casting a smile between him and Vanya, clearly proud of his sister, “We’ve been waiting all day to come see you.”

Diego is nodding along and Five begins to wonder if they rehearsed beforehand, “We would have been down sooner, but—”

“—Allison was in a  _ mood, _ ” Klaus finishes abruptly, derailing the overly coordinated delivery of the group exchange. Five can’t help but be amused by how everyone is trying and failing to not talk over one another, all vying for his attention.

“ _ Hey _ . She spent the whole afternoon using her powers, she’s tired,” Luther says in Allison’s defense, and Diego— having previously been cut off— pushes Klaus back by the shoulder. He’s already taking up most of the space on the small bed but makes it a point to fall over dramatically before starting a kick-slap fight against Diego.

At the mention of his earlier interrogation Five’s heart leaps in his throat. The steady barrage of Allison’s mental manipulations left his brain in a worn-out state, even hours later. Overstretched and threadbare, one wrong move away from tearing in two. His eye twitches. The migraine is back.

“So, it’s true then?” Ben is the one to ask in the end, “You don’t remember where you’ve been the last six weeks?”

Everyone goes silent and even Klaus freezes beside him, his leg mid-kick against Diego who is now standing if only to combat Klaus's thrashing Five doesn’t think to correct them on the time frame. To him, it feels like no time has passed, but he could sense the change from each of his siblings. It was odd to think how his absence could have changed  _ them _ more than it had him.

His missing time concerns him greatly but he doesn’t want them to know that. Over the years, Five has seen Allison target a dozen men at once with perfect precision, and it was very rare that her Rumors wouldn’t take. His whole situation is very frustrating and as much as he appreciates their apparent concern, he spent the better part of the afternoon putting his brain in a blender, and his answer wasn’t going to change just because someone else is asking. Five has never liked not knowing the correct answer to a question.

“No offense, but I really don’t have the time or patience to explain the complexities of time travel to you guys,” Five says, but it comes out harsher than he wants. Their concern only makes him feel claustrophobic, scrutinized— but more— vulnerable. He heaves a sigh, then softer, “I just overexerted myself. It’ll all come back to me soon.”

A beat passes, “Is that a yes, then?”

“ _ Klaus. _ ” Luther chastises.

“ _ What? _ ” He mocks in a voice an octave higher than anyone in the room. Diego hits him again. “Hey!” Klaus slaps him back, jostling the bed. Even with his feet flat on the floor, Five feels dizzying vertigo at the shift as his shoulder knocks into Vanya’s and she lets out a tiny squeak, the first sound since she offered him dinner. She’s been sitting quietly since the beginning of their reunion. 

The bickering continues without him, sounding farther away.

From the base of his skull, a high pitched ringing picks up volume, lifting goosebumps and fine hairs across his skin. There is too much movement and noise. It's all too much too quickly.

The ringing crescendos.

“Look, guys, I’m really tired.” He sighs, rubbing his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger as if willing the migraine away, “I just want to get some rest before tomorrow.”

He’s not lying. He really is tired. Still, it’s hard to miss the hurt he sees flicker across each of their faces and a guilty sort of shame begins to form deep in his gut. It’s odd, this new power he seems to have over them. They never used to pay all that much attention to him before. He has to keep reminding himself that he’s been missing a lot longer for them than he has from his perspective.

What had they thought, during that time? He wonders if they assumed he simply ran away and was too stubborn to return. Did they believe he abandoned them? He hoped not. Or did they think something bad happened and he would never make it home? At the thought, he finds his eyes drift to Klaus as he collects himself to stand and leave with the others. The idea of his brother attempting to summon him only solidifies the guilt festering inside. He wants to take back his dismissal, but at the same time doesn’t want them to see how much their apparent hurt has affected him.

So he keeps his head down as they make their quieted goodbyes. Hands pat his shoulders and squeeze his knees with instructions to sleep well and feel better. The heightened degree of care from his brothers remains a foreign sensation and Five bristles— uncomfortable at the attention— and when he lifts his head again, Vanya is the only one who remains.

His confidante. 

_ Please,  _ he begs, _ don’t let her have changed too much. _ He doesn’t know if his heart could handle her treating him differently.

“I knew you’d come back,” she says with a smile that he finds himself returning, albeit warily. “I mean, I wish you got back sooner, what with it being time travel and all…” Her smile trembles. Five sees he’s hurt her, too. “But I stayed up every night, waiting.”

She doesn’t need to convince him, but she continues, “And then you just collapsed.”

“That must have been scary for you.” If he thinks hard, he thinks he can remember being outside, but that could also be from everyone mentioning it. He honestly has no idea how he came to be in the courtyard in the middle of the night. Wherever he had been before, it must have taken a large amount of energy for him to get back. 

“You really don’t remember.” The statement sounds more like a question and Five finds himself becoming cross once again. 

“No,” he says, “I  _ don’t _ remember.” If Allison couldn’t get it out of him with her powers, ordinary Vanya doesn’t stand a chance. “How many times do I need to say it before everyone stops asking?” 

He exhales through flared nostrils. It’s not  _ his  _ fault that he can’t remember. But then, it’s not like it’s her fault, either, so he shouldn’t be taking it out on her. He brings his hands up to his face, rubbing it in fatigue. It’s maddening, not having a proper target to lash out at.

“I remember telling Dad that I was ready to try time travel,” he starts, staring at his hands, not daring to make eye contact. “I remember you disapproving, and I remember his bullshit acorn analogy when he said he forbade it,” he scoffs. “I remember leaving the house and I remember jumping— _time traveling_ — and I remember thinking _‘Fuck Dad, what the hell does he know?’_ ” And Five laughs, despite no longer seeing the humor in his predicament, “So I did it _again_ and it worked _again_ because I was right and Dad’s just an ass. _Surprise_.”

He’s breathing heavily at this point. It’s been a stressful twenty-four hours and he hasn’t really gotten much of a chance to process the day’s events— knowing it’s actually been much longer than that only makes him feel more burned-out. All the same, he is both afraid and desperate for Vanya’s response so he chances a look and sees she is staring—  _ listening—  _ intently, her face pure with open understanding. 

She nods for him to continue, so he does, “I remember I was building up for one last jump before I came back. I wanted to get a souvenir, you know? Something from far enough in the future to prove to Dad that  _ I was right _ .” He pauses in his rambling, “I don’t remember what happened after that. I know I made one last jump and I know I was gone for a while. How else do I explain these injuries? I really must have pissed someone off.” 

“You can have that effect on people,” Vanya jokes, her eyes are somber.

“Yeah,” his face cracks in a sad, asymmetric smile. “I don’t know what happened, but there’s some kind of…. block— something that’s preventing me from remembering,” he theorizes. “I mean, if Allison couldn’t Rumor it out of me, that must mean there’s someone powerful behind this, right? It  _ has  _ to be important. There’s no other explanation.” 

There is no other explanation that he will  _ accept _ . The possibility that he messed it all up somehow was too terrifying.

Vanya is silent for a moment, seeming to process all that he’s told her before asking, “Well, what does Dad think?”

Yes, what  _ does  _ Dad think? Somehow Five doesn’t imagine it’s anything particularly good. Nothing that would make him feel any better about the situation, at least. It was part of the reason he was keeping these feelings to himself. He would figure it out on his own,  _ without _ Dad’s help.

He moves his jaw, working around his answer, “I may have neglected to mention it to the old man.”

It’s not like he’s withheld information from their father before. He tries not to dwell too much on the fact that withholding information and experimenting behind their father’s back is what got him into this mess in the first place.

“Why are you telling  _ me _ ?”

He turns his body towards her, still seated on the bed. Her hands are in her lap, twisting her sleeves with nerves and he picks one up to settle his own. 

_ Because you’re ordinary _ , he finds himself thinking. She is unbiased and won’t tell him “ _ I told you so, _ ” or call him crazy. They sit there for a moment, Five rubbing his thumbs over her palms as he gathers his thoughts. 

There is no evolutionary advantage to showing weakness, but Vanya was never one to fault him for it. He looks into her eyes and sees solace.

“Because you’ll listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Dreams So Real by Metric


	3. What it is and where it stops (nobody knows)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five attempts to read himself like a mystery novel with the final reveal scribbled out in permanent marker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reached over 500 hits as of last chapter and am blown away by the response! I am so glad people are intrigued by this little story of mine. Every time I see a new comment, I can't help but to smile! They make my day. 
> 
> Some of you may have noticed the total chapter count went from 9 to 10. That’s because this chapter continued to grow so I split it again. I’m just vibing in Five’s POV apparently, so we’ll be with him through the end of next chapter before switching POV again. 😅 Next chapter is already 4.6k and in the beta stage, so I’m excited to be staying ahead and keeping a good buffer. 
> 
> This chapter may not super exciting but it's important. Five is feeling a lot of feelings, ya know?
> 
> Trigger warnings at the end. Let me know if I need to add others(I am new to this).
> 
> _January 17, 2021_

_January 2003_

Five spends a week in the infirmary and it feels like penance. Mom brings him his three meals a day as well as his daily reading and assignments, but anything more strenuous is deemed strictly off-limits. And absolutely _no_ spatial jumping.

Five always hated sitting still.

Quite often, he finds himself lying awake in the middle of the night, mind running away from him and his skin itching with an unknown urgency as every moment spent not moving fills his insides with an anxious buzzing. 

Or maybe those were the stomach ulcers— yet another mystery added to his missing fortnight. Wherever he had been, he hadn’t been well fed and may have subsisted primarily on coffee.

Recovery is boring, especially when his only regular visitor is Mom. She doesn’t stick around long, she has her own daily schedule to follow and only sits with him while he eats his meals. There have not been any other surprise visits from worried family members since his first night and Five fears he may have scared them off. Their concern had been surprising and annoying at first but as the lonely nights wore on he found himself pining after the memory of their stilted conversation and awkward grasping of shoulders in affection.

Still, the time in isolation (because, that’s what it is, in his mind) worries him. Anxious as he is to get out, he knows his body needs the rest. They weren’t always granted the luxury, after all. Downtime in the Academy was a rare commodity, so while he does consider himself grateful for the bedrest, he can’t help but compare his recovery to that of Klaus the year prior. Even for the eight weeks his mouth was wired shut, jaw broken, Klaus was still required to complete their scheduled training. He was simply given pain killers and told not to be late to their next lesson.

Five really didn’t see what the big deal was, but there was no arguing with Dad about these things. Not that he was even around for Five to argue with; the old man was inconveniently absent for the week Five spent in the infirmary. 

Thankfully, time moves forward, as it has the tendency to. His body heals and, by the first week of the new year, Five is back in their regularly scheduled team training almost as if he had never left in the first place. He’s not afraid to admit to himself— though, definitely not to anyone else— that he’s missed it. There are clear cut goals to the daily lesson plans— state-required academics, CQC training, and specialized drills— and the three square meals do wonders to strengthen his still weary body. He’s spent enough time doing nothing.

He focuses on the routine and, for a while, training is almost enough to distract him. Truthfully. But weeks pass, the days begin to blur together, and every night when the house falls silent, his fingers absently trail the cryptic marks littering his form, and Five bows to his disconcerting thoughts. While he was loath to admit it, his session with Allison and the later conversation with Vanya left him feeling on edge at the thought of training the new application of his power. Dad hasn’t mentioned time travel or resuming his personalized training plans so far and Five isn’t going to bring it up if he isn’t. Five can't remember there ever being a problem his Dad couldn’t solve, which means there was a real possibility that what’s wrong with him cannot be fixed. 

Or, Dad is just not smart enough to figure it out.

Five uses the thought to calm himself. There may not be anyone in his room to witness his emotional outbursts but that doesn’t suddenly make them productive. He knows that the answers are in him somewhere, simply locked away behind a door in need of a good picking— they’re not something Dad or Allison can coax out of him. While he may not remember, his body does.

His injuries were his biggest clue, nevermind that he didn’t know the story behind each of them yet. Mom suggested that, based on the angle, the incision on his right forearm was most likely self-inflicted, but Five couldn’t picture himself harming himself without cause, which leaves the true intention a mystery. The bullet graze near his shoulder is a bit more straightforward and that had to have been inflicted by a third party. Same with the gash in his abdomen, which was the worst of his injuries. Currently, his running theory is either impalement or shrapnel based on the uneven edges but the jury was still out. The scratches on his throat were equally as puzzling— whatever the animal had been, it had gone straight for his throat, but the injury was shallow which doesn’t give him much context. Five has no experience with animals outside of Pogo but he doesn’t think he’s fair to compare.

Five brings his hand up to his hairline, delicately feeling for the small scab partially hidden beyond his fringe. The swelling has long since gone down but he wouldn’t be surprised if it scarred like the rest were certain to. He had been hit by something heavy and with a blunt edge. It was the most recent injury Mom was able to catalog so it might have had something to do with his memory loss. That theory made as much sense as anything else.

He doesn’t remember landing in the courtyard and was already changed into his academy issued pajamas when he first woke up, but he was able to inspect them alongside his father shortly thereafter. The uniform was beyond saving. They were made for durability, jackets lined with kevlar fibers yet it appears to have been ridden to the ends of its life— stains of blood, coffee, and other matters variegated the fabrics already disarrayed by busted seams and threadbare patches. Somewhere along the way, he must have lost his uniform shoes, as evident by the out-dated style he was found in. While not as weathered as his clothing, the mud and sleet stained pair left his feet blistered and abused. 

Five has seen neither hide nor hair of his ensemble from his return in weeks but much like his injuries, the visual is seared into his mind’s eye. His imagination spun visions of faceless villains inflicting the injuries upon him and surely influencing his dreams— after all, he had never been prone to nightmares before, and they had become near a nightly affair. The possibilities of where— and when— he had time traveled were endless. During his rare hours of sleep, infinite possibilities cycled behind his closed eyelids outside of his control. It felt to Five similar to the act of running in place; your body performs the action, fatigues, but does not actually advance. So similar are his dreams, where he feels the answer at his fingertips only for them to slip away with the pervasive beeping of his morning alarm, informing him he is no closer to the answer than when he fell asleep the nights before.

This all meant something, that much he knew. There was no detail too small; nothing was insignificant. He would be the one to figure it out and then Dad would eat his words. 

* * *

Before long a month has passed since the night of Five’s return. Outside of their daily schedules, the others have been leaving him alone for the most part. It hurts for a moment before Five reminds himself that their behavior upon his return was what was out of the ordinary and that this is a return to their normal state. He knows they were worried about him— they all said as much when they ambushed him in the infirmary weeks ago— but if they wanted to help him or actually cared to find out what happened, they would have brought it up again by now. So Five tries not to feel too guilty about it when he sequesters himself to his bedroom during any of their free time.

He’s spending his time today reviewing his notes. His desk is a cluttered mess of papers and journals, his hands marbled in an array of multi-colored inks and graphite smudges. More than once he’s had to stop himself from writing on the walls when he ran out of blank sheets and didn’t want to pause to retrieve more from downstairs. 

Though free of the stain of ink, the walls do not go unused. Pinned at eye level and as high as his arms can reach without aid, Five has placed his most important clues in something resembling the link charts he’s seen in Diego’s favorite detective movies. It’s just notes and sketches linked together with the dark green yarn of a skein stolen from Klaus’s knitting pile, but it gets the job done. He had tried asking Mom for some printed photos of his injuries and clothing— knowing fully well that Dad had instructed her to take some— but his request was denied. The old man wasn’t making it easy for Five to prove him wrong, but he wasn’t so easily deterred. Even if the others thought he was crazy for it, Five wasn’t going to give up on this just because it was difficult. He’s done enough solo missions to know he was capable on his own.

Still, the lack of progress was frustrating. The return to the routine that he had been praising soon turned stifling as he remembered how much he hated the stuffy structure of the Academy.

Relief comes in the form of a new mission assignment— the first he’s allowed on since his return. It’s a welcome distraction; a return to something familiar and an outlet for all of the frustrations that Five has felt bubbling just below the surface.

He _really_ needed to punch someone that wasn’t one of his siblings.

Before leaving the mansion, they are briefed on how to respond to the fated scrutiny they would receive from the media. By this point, the Academy has been on a handful of smaller missions and Five’s absence was definitely noticed. He is told that their father eventually had to release an official statement on the matter, but it may or may not have just caused more questions.

Five doesn’t think too much of it, too focused on finally getting out of the house and ridding himself of this excess energy. So it is to his disappointment when he finds out that he is being placed on reserve— glorified lookout duty with Klaus, whose ability to commune with the dead serves little help to the team outside of the barely-reliable reconnaissance gained from uncooperative ghosts. 

After some deep breathing exercises on the car ride over, Five resigns himself to his sentence as he and Klaus move to take their positions. They’re in the business district a short car ride away from the Academy. It’s midday, the heavy foot traffic suggesting to Five that the job was more for publicity than anything else. All the same, the crowd parts as Five leads his brother to where he suspects is an ideal vantage point for their mission’s objective.

The building’s security allows them to the roof access stairwell with zero pushback. They’re high enough now that the sounds of car horns, raised voices, and the wind whipping between the high rises blend together into a white noise that is the background track to the city. Five busies himself with double and triple-checking that their earpieces are working properly— what good is a lookout if they can’t communicate?— before attempting to get comfortable in a place not designed for comfort. As he sits, he watches as a bird lands a few yards away from them on the roof’s edge and Five can’t help but feel like he’s intruding in a space he’s not supposed to be.

His brother doesn’t appear to care for the indignity of their current assignment, however, and instead uses the opportunity of the unsupervised rooftop to smoke a pre-rolled joint he seems to have pulled from a hidden pocket inside his blazer. It’s done so casually that it takes a moment for Five to register how inappropriate the act is for their current situation that his head whips back to follow the motion of Klaus holding a flame to the tip for several seconds.

Five was well aware of his brother’s developing habit and had been long before he first ran away. He wasn't sure the exact reason behind Klaus's disobedience, especially considering he never took his punishment well. He had always been sensitive— quick to cry and quick to run away— he _‘wore his heart on his sleeve,’_ which in Five’s opinion, was a dangerous place to leave your vulnerabilities in a house full of sharp objects. But their father’s reprimands were never enough to fully deter him from repeating the same behavior.

They never got caught when Five was along for the ride.

“Since when do you smoke on missions?” It was surprising to see how lax he had gotten to be doing it so openly, but it wasn't exactly a subject Five was prudish over— mostly because he wasn't a hypocrite. Five always considered himself as the one leading the charge of rebellion against their father; he was always the most outspoken (the others called him arrogant, but they wouldn’t know confidence if it walked up and slapped them across the face) and willing to challenge the status quo for no other reason than the fact that it was _stupid_. 

Unlike any of their siblings, Five would often join Klaus in some of his excursions— only when it was convenient to him, of course. He wasn’t so much interested in the social gathering aspect (other people their age and even a few years older were far too immature to his preference), but their frequent raids of the corner store and questionable pawn shops after hours— and, yes, smoking or drinking after a long day of training— was all very freeing. 

Klaus considers him for a moment before responding, “Since Dad decided my talent of standing around looking pretty was better at a distance.” He jokes, “Or maybe the bastard finally realized my power isn’t exactly battle-ready.”

The honesty is unexpected. While it's a far cry from the ease that previously existed between them, it's still the most openly anyone has spoken to him in weeks. The answer wasn't all that shocking, either. They all may share the same training routine, but Klaus never truly took to it like Five and the others had and, as he said, his powers didn't give him any kind of advantage like the rest of them. Because even if Diego ran out of projectiles or Five ran out of energy to jump or Allison lost her voice, they were still skilled in combat and could hold their own. 

In every way that Five excelled in their physical training, Klaus floundered. He could hold his own against the average henchmen, sure, but among the Umbrella Academy members, he ranked lowest in CQC. If truth be told, the only subject where Klaus outperformed the others was in language studies— not that this necessarily helped them outside of impressing Dad’s diplomat friends.

Thus, Klaus was deemed the _‘lookout’_ because the team didn’t need a liability in the field. And it’s why Five knows he is joining him today, isn't it?— a fellow albatross.

“Why, you want some?” Klaus offers and, for a moment he actually considers it— if only out of indignation to his new lowered status— before coming to his senses. 

_No_ . He couldn’t allow himself to give in too easily, because he is _almost certain_ this is some kind of test— not the offering from his brother (Klaus was just open and giving like that) but his role on the mission today. In fact, if he were to scan the surrounding rooftops thoroughly enough Five is pretty sure would be able to locate their father watching them from afar, just like in their first team outing. 

Status of the _almost-certainly-a-_ test notwithstanding, Five reminds himself that they still have a responsibility to their brothers and their sister who are out there fighting— not to mention the innocent civilians they're meant to protect. 

There’s also the fact that Five has been on edge since the team arrived at the scene, even after he and Klaus split off from the others to scout a good vantage point. This whole time it has felt like all eyes were on him: the boy who went missing and was assumed dead, only to return unscathed (to their knowledge). Even with the preparation, Five couldn’t help but feel slightly unnerved by the undivided attention from the media and civilians alike. 

(How much did they know about his disappearance? Would they see how he held himself differently? Could they tell how their team dynamic has shifted? Was anyone worried about him while he was away? Were they all just humoring him? What did they think of him? Did they know how he had messed up? How he shattered his confidence ~~and maybe his mind—?~~ )

“No thanks,” Five replies flatly, declining his brother’s offer. He doesn’t need any further distractions.

“Suit yourself, more for me,” he shrugs, taking another hit before settling down next to Five, and Five does his best to ignore the smell of weed. 

His eyes scan the sea of office buildings, searching for the familiar glint of his father’s monocle, desperately needing this punishment to mean something. He doesn’t like being on the sidelines, it makes him feel useless— less than useless. He’s worked too hard for too long to be considered some kind of liability. He is not at Klaus’s level— he hasn’t _given up_.

The stakes are higher than ever, as far as he’s concerned. The longer he goes without answers to his disappearance, the more likely something bad is going to happen, he just _knows_ it. He can’t put the feeling into words, much less _attempt_ to explain it to any of the others outside of his first night with Vanya, but with how little he’s had to go on from his short stint in time travel, he’s not about to dismiss the gut feeling.

He sighs, deciding that moping was just as productive as anything else at the moment.

  
Five really _really_ hates sitting still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of possible self-harm(Five is guessing the origins of his injuries, the audience knows it as the tracker removal from s1) & underage drug use.
> 
> Five: complains about Reggie isolating him from his siblings  
> Also Five: willingly isolates himself from his siblings 🙃
> 
> Title: Blindness by Metric


	4. Flashback of a feeling (sick sense of a calling)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five has more questions than answers at this point. And we see a ~~familiar~~ new face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adjusted the total estimated chapters from 10 to 15 because what even is accurately projecting a story's length this early? 😅 This chapter has split yet again because my husband(aka my beta reader) is a— and I quote: "absolute whore for pacing." 🤣 So we'll be spending a little more time with Five.
> 
> I’m including a lot of my own personal headcanons in this story, both for their various friendships as well as power limits & variations(Allison in ch2, Five this chapter, and more in the future!) so please suspend some disbelief for me kthx i l u . . .
> 
> Trigger warnings at the end. As always, let me know if I need to add others.
> 
> _January 30th, 2021_

_February 2002_

Five was running. He may be doing a poor job of it, but it’s the best he can do given the current circumstances. The cold winter air bit into his throat and lungs, calves burning as he does his best to not clip any obstacles and lose sight of the others several paces ahead of him. He’s out of practice. The sprint was such a sudden shift in his physical state it was all he could do to focus eyes-forward as his oxfords pounded the pavement. 

When the mission alarms began blaring through the academy’s halls an hour prior and a lifetime away, Five is grouped with Allison and Diego, his trial as a lookout on their last mission apparently deemed a successful re-acclimation. He acknowledged the mission assignment concisely— with a curt nod and no other emotion on his face— but on the inside, he was filled with relief. Until that moment, a part of him had still feared Dad would keep him out of the field for good.

While group training had returned more or less to normal, progress with his powers was slowed down significantly. Part of that was on Dad, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit most of it was of his own doing. No matter how the clipped and displayed articles in the Academy halls liked to portray him— Sir Reginald was not a generous man. Five knew that his downtime in the infirmary and as a lookout with Klaus was not provided out of the goodness of his father’s heart. He thought he could take any criticism or punishment that his father could throw at him but he may have finally found a method to curb Five’s dissidence.

Well, outwardly defy him, anyway. His primary focus from that point had been to appease and avoid further humiliation. He would just need to do a better job with choosing his battles moving forward as the last thing he wanted was to be seen as incapable.

It was ridiculous, really. If anything, Dad should be impressed. Jumping forward in time had been easy— practically _too_ easy. Natural. Instinctive, almost; like it was the natural progression of his powers that he always theorized it to be. 

In fact, the physical application for it was such a slight adjustment of variables from his standard process for spatial jumping that it wouldn’t take much effort to do it again. The neural pathway had been formed and the bell could not be unrung.

Not that he was planning on doing it again any time soon. The memories of his first two successful time jumps were still fresh in his mind but he had gotten too ambitious with the third. He wasn’t afraid— that would be ridiculous, he could never be afraid of his powers— but he was... _apprehensive_. Yes, his abilities are a part of him but he recognizes now how pushing himself may in fact do more damage than good in the long run. 

(The jumping _didn’t_ break him, he reminds himself. He’s too smart to let something like the old laws of physics get the better of him— The Umbrella Academy was already rewriting them, whether the world liked it or not.)

So, in a calculated effort, Five decided it may be best for him to take a step back and reconceptualize. Dad agreed with the proposition, but Five is still on the fence over whether to be satisfied his father trusts his judgment or indignant that he thinks he needs to take a step back.

It was Five’s choice, though, so he would stand by it.

_“Assess, adapt, overcome,”_ Dad’s instructions echo in his mind, one of their first lessons in training their special abilities.

It was easy enough, going back to his roots. Before Five’s training had shifted to practicing his spatial jumps, small-scale spatial manipulations were the known extent of his ability. The sleight of hand was quite handy for disarming their assailants on missions— the confusion on their faces when he swaps a handgun for a useless inanimate object never fails to bring a self-satisfied smile to his face— as well as pranking his siblings while at home. It was through training this initial power that he realized he could do more and go bigger with his portals to the point of stepping through them completely— in fact, he was so quick to move onto this new facet of his power that he all but quit the parlor tricks cold turkey.

(Would he have done the same with time travel if things had gone differently? Abandon his regular jumps and instead, roll the dice until things inevitably went his way?)

Everything that happened after he progressed to spatial jumping was just proof that he moved on too quickly. Adapting was one thing but he had allowed himself to become lazy and that was completely unacceptable. He became too reliant on his spatial jumps, that was the bottom line. Sure, they were great for all sorts of things from skipping the line to the bathroom in the morning to dodging punches and making the bad guys hit each other with friendly fire— but he didn’t _need_ to use them to win every single race against his siblings. 

He really does regret skipping the cardio.

Allison glances back at him as if to assure herself he is still behind them. It’s humiliating. He can only imagine what she and Diego are thinking, with him trailing behind them this way. 

And so, again, Five was running, now for far longer than he felt was necessary. Several feet ahead of him is Allison who, despite being half a head shorter than both of them, is keeping pace with Diego. It’s actually quite impressive, considering Diego’s secondary ability to hold his breath near indefinitely. Personally, Five feels like his lungs are burning and they haven’t even been running long.

It had been a relatively routine mission up until it wasn’t— just some low-level group of robbers that must not have realized how close their target location was to the gates of The Umbrella Academy. There weren’t even any hostages involved, which meant a relatively quick round-up with minimal bloodshed. 

Five and the others had been just about wrapping up when they were stumbled upon by what must have been a straggler in the group. Their eyes had fallen upon the scene before they turned around in a panic and bolted for the exit. Diego and Allison took off after the culprit, and Five knew to stay with his assigned unit. Normally, Five would have made quick work of the escapee by simply jumping ahead and tripping them up, but he’s committed to— and is _totally not regretting_ — the idea of reconceptualizing. 

Though really, if at the end of the day he can’t catch a petty thief with his lifetime of training his base ability then maybe he should just go back to _lookout duty_ with Klaus. 

He grits his teeth and wills his legs to move faster. He can feel sorry for himself after their job is done.

_Assess, adapt, overcome._

Unfortunately, moving targets are difficult to hit when Five is also in motion. By the time he creates a small portal to reach through, he’s already moving away from it. It would be so much easier if the guy weren’t doing evasive moves, zig-zagging Five and his siblings down unfamiliar alleyways of the warehouse district. If he could just get further ahead and maintain his line of sight with the target, then he can end this pointless chase.

_Fine_ , he concedes— if they cannot be stopped with Allison’s words or Diego’s knives, then he’ll reconsider jumping ahead to grab them; because letting them get away completely is _not_ an option. 

For now, all he can do is give chase.

They are rounding the corner and Five nearly slams into Diego’s back before processing the scene. They’ve come to a sudden halt in front of what appears to be a live demolition site; there are bright red signs reading “Warning” and “No Trespassing,” but the tape covering the front doorway is torn and the door is swinging closed, which is the only confirmation they need before entering the condemned building as they’ve been conditioned to. 

“This place is a mess.” Diego is saying when Five enters the building behind them.

“What did you expect, a doorman with refreshments? The building is scheduled to be demolished by the city, of course it’s a mess.”Allison responds, sounding annoyed. She’s already moving past Diego and looking down the hallway. 

Five is still catching his breath behind them, doing his best not to draw their attention to his sorry state. From his view in the entryway, he guesses this was previously some kind of residential building. There is a short door-lined hallway with several doors either open or off their hinges, as well as an old rotted staircase directly to their right. Overall not ideal in the grand scheme of locating their target quickly.

“He couldn’t have gotten far,” Diego continues, “We need to spread out. Allison, take the left. Five, you go right. I’ll start on the second level. Yell if you, uh... get in trouble.” He finishes, awkwardly, before making a speedy exit and taking the stairs two at a time.

Five and Allison make brief eye contact through their masks— she stifles a laugh and they each shake their heads at the banal closing line. There’s nothing truly malicious behind the laughter. Not for Five, at least. It was just— for all of Diego’s bark for wanting to be seen as a leader, Five didn’t think it suited him. He would rather have Diego watching his back than giving inspirational speeches. 

Shaking his head, Five looks around the corridor and discovers he’s alone; Allison must have gone off into her section already. 

Five takes the right, moving quickly. He doesn’t have time to lull about and get distracted, they’ve already let this target get out of their line of sight so the longer they spend dilly-dallying the more likely they are to let them get away. 

The first unit smells of mold and ammonia and the next few aren’t much better. Five has lost count of the number of vermin he’s stepped on or around and he thinks the last room he came from may have been the scene of a murder if the dark brown staining the floor and walls meant anything. 

The floors creak as he makes his way, rotten floorboards older than himself struggling under his weight and making any kind of a covert approach impossible. He pauses in his search and discovers that, when he listens closely enough, he can hear the others moving around the dilapidated building. Deeming his section clear, Five makes his way back towards where he came, giving a final curious look to a dismantled light fixture, robbed of its wiring. 

Back in the hallway, he catches sight of Allison as she passes through a threshold further down the walkway. She lifts her gaze when she sees him and is in the middle of shaking her head when Five hears it— a series of thuds, combined with low menacing sounds trailing overhead, all signifying a scuffle happening out of sight on the floor above. He looks back at Allison and her face turned skyward confirms she’s heard it, too: Diego found their target.

Diego is one of their most skilled in hand-to-hand, so while there was no question that he will be able to hold his own, the two Academy members rush back to the front corridor to climb the stairs in order to assist their brother. Can’t let him get all the glory, after all.

Once again, Allison is in the lead even through such a short distance. They are just about to their destination when a forceful crash rings through the enclosed space and a sizable crack appears in the ceiling just ahead of them. Allison has just enough time to turn and face Five, still several paces back, when their cover all but falls away, lath and plaster raining down like a hailstorm.

Five feels his heart jump in his chest and once again finds his body moving on instinct before his mind has a chance to give any input. In a flash, Five is grabbing Allison’s wrist as he pulls them both back through his portal in a mess of flailing limbs. They land harshly, his sister’s elbow digging uncomfortably into his abdomen and forcing the air out of him. 

Feeling dazed, he stares up at the still in-tact ceiling above their new location in the hallway. He groans as Allison shifts her weight, rolling off of him. She repositions herself to sit leaned against the ratty wallpaper, head between her knees, obviously unaccustomed to the equilibrium shift that comes from one of Five’s spatial jumps. Even when he was the one doing the jumping, it had still taken him months to get used to the motion sickness. 

“It will pass,” Five promises her, breath coming in short as he coughs from the excess of fine particles in the air. He shifts himself up on his elbows just enough to stare down past his feet at the pile of dirt and debris. There is no immediate movement he can discern, not that he can see much through the cloud of dust still attempting to settle in the small space. His and Allison’s own faces and uniforms are coated in a healthy layer of the stuff, and he imagines their brother will be in a similar state. 

Standing gingerly, Five makes his way to the damaged section of the corridor and towards where he assumes Diego and their would-be thief to be. The wreckage shifts as Diego pops up from it with only a slight grunt. He’s facing away from Five, but he sees him reaching back to pull the thief up with him, tapping his face until he too stirs. 

Five can’t help but grin in amusement. He brought the ceiling down with him, but Diego got his perp. And wasn’t that just like him? He always was flashy.

When Diego turns to face him, Five falters. His mask is still in place, of course, but there is blood trailing from Diego’s hairline, forming a grimy track in the residue from the fall. He looks wrong, Five thinks. The layer of dust makes him appear ghostlike and he feels his breath hitch as unease creeps up his throat. 

It must have been an ill-timed inhale but suddenly Five finds himself out of breath, choking on air.

Panic surges in him. Why couldn’t he catch his breath? He can feel his hands trembling as he scrapes at his collar, tugging with the aim of loosening his tie, but the action brings little relief. Something is wrong. Something is happening and he cannot breathe. Unsure what else to do, he looks back up to his brother’s face, now scrunched up in what he can only guess at that moment as concern( ~~pity~~ ). Wrong move, apparently, because when he’s once again met with his ashen and bloodied features, a sensation sharp and ice-like pierces up through his diaphragm. 

Quickly— he whips back around to look at Allison. Only, she’s not behind him anymore. His pulse spikes. That… didn’t make sense. She was just there, against the wall, not even a minute ago. Five blinks and turns back to face his brother but something twinges in the back of his mind— like a television tuned to a dead channel— coming over him more quickly than he can call out. 

He blinks, and he’s in the condemned building with Allison and Diego. 

He coughs, and— he’s in a barren wasteland, surrounded in rubble and fire as far as the eye can see, completely devoid of life. The migraine from before is back and the world tilts. It was like falling into a nightmare but he knew he was awake. There’s a roaring sound— the wind, blood rushing with his pulse in his ears, the flames eating away at his periphery, he’s not sure— and it seems to welcome him. He feels sick.

“Allison?” This isn’t real. He scrubs his eyes and blinks hard but, despite his best efforts, the image does not change back.

“Diego!” He spins in place, desperate to find anything recognizable in the unforgiving landscape.

The world around him is broken and on fire and he thinks this must surely be Hell.

It was becoming more and more difficult to pull enough oxygen to satisfy his gasping lungs, but he tried all the same. Nothing was making any sense, but he knew he still needed to breathe. Static buzzes between his ears. A bead of sweat drips down his spine, causing a full-bodied shiver despite his heat lacquered skin. 

_Assess, adapt, overcome._

His eyes burn with stubborn emotion as he confirms he is alone, wherever he is. There’s something tacky in his hands and when he looks down, he sees the familiar maroon of congealed blood caking a small spherical object in his palm. This is important, something tells him, as he starts to roll it over in his fingertips—

_“Five!”_

His head whips around at the call but— nothing. No one. His only living company is the crackling of the fire. And then, suddenly there is a low ringing building in his ears as the TV static feeling turns to fire ants in his skull. It hurts. His mind is on fire as he drops the mystery object and brings his bloodied palms to cup his ears in a futile attempt to quiet the noise. For a moment he thinks the sound is a physical thing that is trying to pry itself out of his brain. He falls to his knees, feels the skin break with his weight.

~~Regret—~~

~~Death—~~

~~Desolation—~~

The static takes over as sights and sounds pass before his eyes, leaving no lasting impression other than a feeling of hopelessness and need to escape. He feels a hand land on his shoulder, shaking him—

~~_Red—_ ~~

Five jumps.

He lands in an alley, knocking over a trash can, and falls clumsily on his side just missing the mystery liquid leaking out of the upturned bin. To his immediate relief, the air is clear of smoke and fire and Five takes in large gulps of air— an attempt to further drive the vivid imagery and phantom sensation of suffocation from his lungs. He rolls onto his back and stares up at the clear blue sky. The only sound now is his ragged breaths.

_What the hell was that?_ He can’t help but to feel at a loss— nothing like that had ever happened to him before and he was struggling to come up with a logical explanation for any of it. It had felt so real, but there’s no way it could have been. Some kind of trick of the light? Or maybe it was just a hallucination. He _had_ been pushing himself today, maybe his brain was starved on oxygen from all the running and then the ceiling collapsing on them. 

He brings his palm to his forehead and after dragging them down his face they come away slick with sweat but no more blood. It wasn’t real.

All too quickly, Five feels the memory soften around the edges and begin to fade like sand between his fingers. 

No. _No_ — this was too important. He couldn’t just forget it. Clenching his eyes closed, he tried to mentally catalog what he saw but it was almost like the harder he tried to hold onto it, the faster it disintegrated in his grasp until he was left with nothing but a sense of unease and heat.

“Just a panic attack…” He mutters to himself, hoping that’s all it was.

His breaths are finally returning to normal when a shadow comes over him, blocking out the sun. 

“Are you alright?” A woman’s voice asks. 

It takes him a moment to register that the voice is addressing him. But then, he hadn’t seen anyone in the alley just moments prior.

He turns towards the figure as she crouches down beside him, a halo of sunlight crowns around her choppy chin-length brown hair. She speaks again, “Easy there, little man.”

Her accent is what grabs his attention first. He hasn’t heard very many British accents outside of his father’s business associates. But she appears young, maybe ten or so years his senior, though he’s not a good judge for guessing ages, what with only interacting with six other kids his age and then his father(who is ancient). If Grace was human, he would place this woman’s age just below his pseudo-mother’s appearance.

The next thing he processes is that her shoes are bright red, a stark contrast with the dark tones of her clothing. They're right by his face, so they were difficult to miss. They look like something Klaus would appreciate.

There’s also the deep humming in his chest, a voice inside that seems to scream _do not trust_ when she reaches out her hand to help him up, never breaking eye contact.

All he hears is the blood rushing in his ears.

“ _Five!_ ” Allison’s shout mingles with the scraping metal sound of the building’s side door closing behind them. She and Diego have their target walking in line with them, most likely being directed by one of her Rumors.

“Three,” he mumbles— glad he has enough brainpower to remember to use their numbered names while in the field— as she helps him to stand. He’s not sure why his legs feel so unsteady. 

His sister turns towards the mystery woman and with practiced ease, smiles politely.

“Sorry for my brother, he just got turned around a bit. Nothing to worry about!” She says it so confidently that he almost believes her.

“Right,” The woman says, standing back up, herself. She looks past them then, nodding her head back towards Diego with an odd sort of smile, “It looks like you Umbrella kids have everything handled, I’ll be on my way.”

She places her hands in her jacket pockets and turns, walking towards the opposite end of the alley before disappearing out of sight. Allison visibly watches her leave before placing her palm against Five’s shoulder, leading him back towards Diego before he could leave without them. Five goes easily, having neither the mental or physical energy to protest.

“Who the hell was that?” Diego asks them, jerking the perp by their forearm to walk beside him while staying ahead of his two siblings. He would always take any opportunity to be the leader.

“I don’t know, probably just some fan wanting to get _up close_ with Five.” Allison answers with a teasing tilt to her voice before turning back to address him, “What was with you back there, anyway? You just freaked out and ditched us!”

“Nothing. It’s like you said, I just got turned around.” He assured her, “It won’t happen again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic attacks & PTSD style flashbacks
> 
> Yes, thank you, totally random civilian woman. How nice of her to offer our boy a helping hand. 
> 
> Title: Satellite Mind by Metric

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments make my day! Whether it is a single emoji, keyboard smash, constructive criticism, or anything else, I would love to know what you think. ~~Please validate me.~~
> 
> You can also talk to me on tumblr: [pokemonmasterkimba](https://pokemonmasterkimba.tumblr.com/)


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